


Spousal Spite

by BeyondStarlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-01
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-11-21 22:58:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11367384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeyondStarlight/pseuds/BeyondStarlight
Summary: What could be more beautiful than a marriage out of love? One out of spite, of course.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was not beta-read, if you notice any inconsistencies, errors, ... please let me know! :)

Of all the failures, disappointments, and downright disasters the ministry had brought forth, Dolores Umbridge was by far their most outstanding one. Merely having her as a colleague had catastrophic effects, and certainly not just on the student body. For one, Severus had found his first grey hair the very day he made her acquaintance. Naturally, he took it as a bad omen – and a personal affront. The worst part was that now, every time he spotted the grey little thing, he was reminded of her.

That’s how he ended up squinting angrily at himself in the large shard of the mirror, which Filch had handed him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed that Filch had stopped fixing the leak to stare at him as well. Slowly, he put the shard down again. A snappish remark about whether Filch shouldn’t be working rather than staring burned on his tongue, but he knew Filch wouldn’t take offence, so what was the point? Instead, he turned once more to the ruins that were once his classroom. Filch cleared his throat.

“Yer birthday’s comin’ ‘round, innit?”

There were only a handful of people who remembered his birthday, no matter how badly he had tried to hide it. He shot Filch a sharp glare over his shoulder, to which the latter turned away again, and mumbled “Just askin’.”

Filch also happened to be the only one who gave him the only thing he really wanted for his birthday: absolutely nothing. Not even a mention. Of the few people who did remember, none respected his birthday wishes. They thought, for some godforsaken reason, that he was being polite, or humble, or worst of all, insecure about asking people for gifts.

“Been a right mess this year, they have,” Filch grumbled, half to himself. They, of course, referred to the students. They were nearing the end of December now, and Merlin knew the school hadn’t seen this much damage in fourh months as it had in decades.

“They have,” Severus mumbled, half to himself as well. He was fond of these non-comitial chats they had. There wasn’t much casual conversation to be had for a spy, ex Death Eater, and teacher with questionable morals.

“Who dunnit this time?”

With the rear half of his classroom in ruins, the question didn’t have a right to be anything but rhetorical. Sinks broken, mirrors blasted to bits, cracks running up and down the wall; only Merlin knew how Mr Longbottom always ended up in the middle of mayhem.

“The Longbottom boy?”

“Correct.” Severus sighed, and pinched his nose. There mere memory of it was going to give him a headache. “I’ve never seen a student cause so much destruction on purpose as he does by accident.”

The funny thing was, if it _were_ on purpose, Longbottom would be a genius, and Severus would have to grudgingly admire such a flair for sabotage. As it was, Longbottom was merely an imbecile.

Filch snickered quietly and shook his head. “Yeah, ’s no wonder yer goin’ grey.”

Severus blinked, and whipped his head around to look at Filch. His hand immediately reached up to run through his hair. “Excuse me?”

“Di’nt mean no offense, sir,” Filch said calmly, pausing his tinkering briefly to glance over his shoulder at Severus.

One single grey hair, how could Filch have noticed one single grey hair? Had the others noticed but not said anything? Had he simply not yet caught up on the students’ gossip about the ‘Dungeon Bat’ going grey? He forced himself to stop raking his fingers through his hair and instead crossed his arms over his chest. He cleared his throat, feeling like he shouldn’t be so obviously self-conscious about it.

“Never thought I’d be going grey at 35. Comes with the job, I suppose.”

Filch chuckled, but he seemed to have sensed his err. “They reckon it comes down to genes, so there’s nowt you can do ‘bout it.”

“I suppose not,” he muttered bitterly. It might have been well intended, but his ma had been dying her hair since he could remember, and his da had streaks of grey running through his hair since his early forties. It wasn’t a promising prospect. The only thing he could hope for was that he would have his da’s never-receding hairline.

He rubbed his eyes tiredly and leant back against his desk. For a few long moments, he watched Filch position himself by the most damaged sink, on his knees, and then rummage through his belongings. There had always been something familiar about Filch, and it hit him then, when he saw him handling the muggle-like utensils, that Filch bore a great resemblance to the factory men Severus had grown up with. His father, his father’s friends, the neighbours, the drunks. They were all broad-shouldered and soft-bellied, and had harsh, square faces and calloused hands. Only they were loud where Filch was quiet, and they reeked of alcohol where Filch smelled of cleaning products.

 “’m afraid it's gonna take a good day or two. Piping's shot for a start, so that needs comin’ out. Can do the rest by the evenin’.”

Severus sighed. He really didn’t expect anything less from Longbottom.

For a few moments longer, he idly watched Filch work, knowing that, once he left, he would have to start correcting the always disappointing first-year essays on optimal workspace environments for brewing. He let himself be distracted a little longer than necessary, noticing the wand strapped to Filch’s belt. It was always there, among other tools, although Severus had never seen him use it. It went unsaid, but everyone was quite certain that he was a squib. Severus wondered what family had dumped him here, to be Hogwart’s human house elf. Purebloods, likely. Else he would have had a muggle family to be sent off to. Who knew if Filch was really the descendant of an ancient and well-respected bloodline? Severus entertained that thought more often than he’d like to admit, and probably more often than he should.

\--

The new year started most wonderfully, with Dumbledore’s leave. This news came as a slap in the face to anyone who wasn’t a dolled-up toad. Panic ensued even among teachers, because having Umbridge as a colleague could be considered a hazardous working condition of its own, but having her as a boss was an outright travesty.

Most ironically, the whole happening had one most outstanding outcome, in which the teachers and students of Hogwarts united against their common enemy like never before. Even among the Slytherins, Severus had noted a subtle shift in alliances.

Still, he should have been secretly thrilled. Nothing brightened his day quite as much as deducing house points left and right. With Umbridge on the throne, there were endless rules to be broken, for reasons even more whimsical than his own. However, doing that went hand in hand with endorsing those new rules, and that’s where the prospect lost all its promise.

Truth be told, he wouldn’t have cared too much about students whining and rampaging around, hadn’t it affect him so badly as well. Even rules that only applied to the students were beginning to drive him – and all the other teachers – insane. Every single day, the “boys and girls must stay six inches apart from one another” decree caused either one of two scenarios: Either students made a meat pile of boys and girls, or they screamed at the mere sight of one another, tainting each other with exposed ankles or wrists.

As a warm starter for the new year, Umbridge lengthened said six-inch decree to become the eight-inch decree. Despite the fact that it was, obviously, meant as a threat, it was, obviously, taken for a challenge. Even so, it was easy for her, since she didn’t have to endure the endless stream of dick-size jokes that ensued.

The tumult caused by all of this was still within manageable limits, but only because most of the children were still away for holidays. It was only when the first week of January came to an end, and classes resumed again, that the whole ordeal became far more chaotic – for both students and teachers. Not patrolling Hogwarts with his usual vigour, which had been his initial plan, was no longer an option, since the brats were everywhere now.

“I just confiscated a Quibbler,” grumbled as he entered Minerva’s office. He threw the magazine on top of a small pile of them on her desk, and sat down. “A _Quibbler_. The most dangerous thing about that damnable magazine is its colour scheme.”

Minerva handed him a cup of tea and put a plate of chocolates on her desk. Normally, Minerva reserved sweet treats for special occasions. The fact that she put them on the table during a regular Tuesday evening only underlined the dire state of things. With a swish of her wand, the door closed behind him. She sat in her chair, staring pensively in her tea, before drinking in a way that could only be described as angrily sipping. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Severus. She is the single most dull, stubborn, and petty person I have ever met, and yet they put her in the position of Headmistress.”

It was very true, and yet that was the least surprising part, to him. He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you had any faith in the Ministry of Magic _before_ this incident.”

His commentary earned him a sharp look, and he feared for a moment that she would lecture him on socio-political events from forty years ago. Luckily, she kept it brief. “They have not always been so remarkably incompetent,” she explained, yet he was not inclined to believe her. “I’m just appalled at her lack of understanding people. Doesn’t she realise that forbidding something makes it that much more desirable?”

To Severus, it was a relief that she wasn’t any cleverer. Umbridge was the worst one could draw out of a Ravenclaw – obsessed with rules and order, whilst completely disregarding the strength of emotion and tact.

He considered the chocolates, but settled for idly leafing through the Quibbler. “An interview of Potter,” he muttered, as he came across the source of all this mayhem. “Heavens, protect the children. If it were pornographic content, it would have been fine, but imagine those poor kids reading an actual interview of Potter.”

A small smile tugged at Minerva’s lips. “I wouldn’t be surprised if every single one of my students knew the interview word for word by now.”

“My, my, and how is their first engagement in literary activities going?”

“Very funny, Severus,” she said dryly, although he had caught the quirk in her lips before she could suppress it. The momentary glee did not last long however, and he could see it fall from her face as she put her cup down and sighed. “It’s only a matter of time before the rules will expand beyond the moral line.”

This, unfortunately, was also true. It didn’t need to be said out loud, but all of them had been sensing the gradual leaning towards anti-Muggle-Born ideologies. Already there were mentions of a Muggle-Born registry. Severus would like to tell her that, surely, it wouldn’t come to that, at least not so soon, and that she was exaggerating. These changes had not passed him by unnoticed, however. He stared into his empty cup. The remnants of the tea looked like dots, no, something bigger. His mother used to read tea leaves, and she was never far off. He turned his cup around, and saw that they looked like bells – good news, or bad news, or a marriage, he wasn’t sure.


	2. Chapter 2

Matters were proceeding quite as Minerva had predicted. What had started with a disdain for muggles, non-human beings, and half-breeds, was turning into plain discrimination. Literature promoting the co-existence between muggles and wizards was prohibited, and agreeing with political stances made by Muggle-Borns was enough ground for a student to be questioned. Meanwhile, Purebloods not only received far less punishments, they were also praised for “keeping the old bloodlines in tact”, something which Severus could only imagine to be a very onerous task. It was a small consolation that Umbridge thought he was a Pureblood as well. The only thing he really hoped for, was that he could at least avoid staying out of the upcoming breaking point. A foolish thing to wish for.

The very next day – coincidentally his birthday – a new law was brought forth by the Ministry.

_“Squibs, who are not related to, married to, or otherwise closely associated with wizards or witches, are to be considered muggles. They are therefore not entitled to the privilege of being a part of the Wizarding Society, and will be removed.”_

Minerva cursed. She threw the Daily Prophet into the fire, which rose to thrice its size with the force of the impact. Severus remained seated sat at the table, rereading the article a third time. There were other teachers moving about, arguing as well as panicking, but they faded into a blur around him. They all knew just which Squib Umbridge would be getting rid of.

“If she’s going to get away with this,” Minerva said, startling Severus out of his thoughts, “She’ll be removing the Muggle-Born students next.”

He nodded tersely in agreement, still staring at the page before him. The Muggle-Borns. Severus was surprised with himself that he had not even thought beyond Filch yet.

Minerva was pacing back and forth next to him. “We need to speak out to Umbridge about this.”

There were a few voices agreeing with her, although most seemed to imply that _she_ should speak out about it. After another few paces, she stopped abruptly, plucked the Daily Prophet from Severus’ hands, and marched towards the door. Leaving his snarky comment about manners for later, Severus followed her.

 _Bells_ , he thought, knowing that the tea never lied. _Bad news_.

It was already too late when they arrived in Umbridge’s office. Filch stood in the middle of it, clutching his wand. Umbridge looked displeased with them at first, but then, after a moment of consideration, she raised her chin, and greeted the two of them a haughty smirk.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, as though she had called them in. “You can both witness me, as I pronounce Mr Filch a Squib, and send him off to live a life happily outside of our community.”

“I won’t allow it,” Minerva snapped. She looked positively furious. Any smarter witch would have been properly warned. Umbridge’s smile only broadened.

“You have nothing to say on the matter, Minerva, and if you make further comment, I’m afraid I’ll have to write you down for another questioning session.”

Minerva twitched, but said nothing, for now. It was common knowledge that if she were gone, the entirety of Gryffindor would avenge her departure, and consequentially be expelled as a whole. And that was a best-case scenario, in Severus’ opinion.

“Well then, Mr Filch, since you claim to have the right to be here, why don’t you show us some magic?”

Filch was pale as chalk, still clutching his wand. Severus had never seen him like that before. His eyes were wide and hard, and his back and shoulders rigid like stone with tension. He had the face of a man with murder on his mind. “I’ve been here since I was a young boy.” His voice was a low rumble, spoken through clenched teeth. “I know Hogwarts better than any-”

“Spare us your life story, Mr Filch.”

Severus’ hands were itching, the magic tingling hotly in his fingers. All it would take was a little, believable bit of magic. But he knew that it wouldn’t hold. They would test Filch more thoroughly or skip straight to the part where they blamed him – or, more likely, Minerva – for intervening with the law.

“Nothing, Mr Filch?”

It was very quiet in the room. Everyone’s eyes were on Filch, and he, in turn, had his eyes on Umbridge. His knuckles were white, his large hands clenched tightly around his wand. Filch did not even attempt a spell, not even the simplest ones, saving himself the embarrassment. Nothing, indeed.

Very briefly, Severus imagined a Hogwarts without Filch. It would be fine, probably. Someone else would be hired as a Caretaker. Someone more efficient than a man with a bucket and a cat. Someone who thought children were nice and the Ministry good. It wouldn’t be the end of the world; not yet. Hogwarts could do without a Filch. Severus’ eyes darted over his back. An unease crept through him, and his thoughts made a 180. No Filch. That was no good. Hogwarts did need someone like Filch. Who else was going to keep the brats somewhat in line? Who else was going to mop up his dungeons, without skipping the ever-filthy storage room? Who else was going to listen to (and agree with) Severus’ very frank opinions?

“I’ll take your silence as an answer. Mr Filch, you-”

“I beg your pardon,” McGonagall interrupted her once more, her voice straining with barely concealed anger. “The new law says that Squibs who are related to, married to, or otherwise closely associated with wizards or witches can stay. Mr Filch, as you may have noticed, is closely associated with Hogwarts.”

That Filch did not react to this at all should have been a clue, but when Ms Umbridge smirked, any hope Minerva or he might have had immediately evaporated. “Ah, yes, I forgot to tell you,” she said, overly cheerful. “Mr Filch was fired this morning. Therefore, he is officially un-associated with Hogwarts, and the new law will apply.”

Considering that it still was morning, Severus could only guess it had happened minutes before their entrance.

“Are we sure he has no magical family?” Minerva urged on. There was a tightness about her, a tension in the air that made even Severus uncomfortable.

“No,” Umbridge answered triumphantly, as though she had personally made sure of it. “Mr Filch has no known relatives.”

A silence followed, as if Umbridge dared them to ask her whether, by any chance, Mr Filch wasn’t married. Severus was still staring at the back of Filch’s head. The loopholes, where were the loopholes?

“Are there any more questions or remarks?”

Severus was thinking quickly. Could Filch still be associated with any magical institutes or people? Not anymore. Not if he was fired. Filch had nothing but Hogwarts. And Hogwarts didn’t need Filch, he forced himself to think, despite the returning unease. Did he have any family? Maybe, but there was not enough time to figure that out. Even so, probably not. No family that would take him in. Marriage? As if.

“No? Very well. Mr Filch, you are hereby declared a Squib undistinguishable of a Muggle. Please collect your belongings and leave the castle by noon.”

:: :: ::

“We’ve only got a few hours to figure something out.”

“We’ve lost, Minerva,” Severus snapped, a little louder than he’d intended to.

She abruptly put her teacup down, with maybe a little too much force, causing Severus to tense. He was about to snarl something at her when she stood up from her chair, planted both of her hands firmly on her desk and leaned over. He felt every bit like a boy being scolded, and cradled his teacup to his chest, though he kept his scowl firmly in place. “And since when have you been such a good loser?”

 _Good loser_. He knew damn well that she was provoking him on purpose, but he also knew damn well that he was no good loser. He was a bad loser and an even worse winner. There was a glint in Minerva’s eyes that said they were very much into some bad winning.

“What are you suggesting?”

“It can’t be that hard, Severus. Either we associate him with someplace else, or we find his family, or someone has to marry him.”

 _It can’t be that hard_. Severus nearly laughed. Either they bribed someone into temporarily hiring a Squib, or they went through hundreds of files looking for whomever had dumped Filch (and had clearly not been interested in taking him back), or they found a suitor willing to marry an unattractive and unmagical man. “We can’t just leave Hogwarts to-”

“We can floo call.”

He rolled his eyes. Was she just being stubborn, or genuinely naïve, or deeply ignorant? “You think anyone will hire him off the bat?”

She sat down again, and straightened herself. Stubborn, he guessed. “Maybe if they understand the reason behind it.”

Naïve, on second thought. As if people were that good. As if they wouldn’t look at their own gain first. He took a sip of tea to gather whatever patience he had. “Minerva, if they understand the reason behind it, they’ll know that they’ll have the Ministry on their own backs soon enough.”

Her chin raised just the slightest bit, and her eyes narrowed. Stubborn, very, very stubborn. “Why do you have so little faith in this? Maybe someone will-”

“They won’t.”

“Severus-” She threatened, but he cut her off.

“No one would hire a Squib,” he said, his voice low and dark, “Just like no one would hire an ex Death Eater.”

“Yet you were hired. Both of you were.”

For fuck’s sake. “By the only person foolish enough to not give a damn about the Ministry. And, in case you hadn’t noticed, he’s gone now, and gone is his protection too.”

Minerva opened her mouth to protest, but then stopped herself. There was a softening in her eyes, as though she was trying to understand more than there was to understand. As though she pitied him too. Poor boy, afraid that if Umbridge turned onto Filch she’ll turn onto him soon too. Severus averted his eyes, jaw clenched, wishing he could wipe that pathetic look of her face.

Luckily, before he could do anything, Minerva sighed deeply. “Fine. Then it’s family or marriage.”

“If there is anything the Ministry will have done well and thoroughly it will be making sure that Filch has no retraceable family.” His voice was sharp and snappish, earning him a sharp glare. He ignored it, although he did consider rolling his eyes, and took a sip of his tea instead. “I’m just sparing us wasting our time. You can tell me if you think I’m wrong.” He said that, knowing fully well that he was not wrong and that he would argue her if she dared to insinuate as much.

But although Minerva was headstrong, and would not put up with his bad temper, she was not stupid. “So,” she said, with an air of defiance, “Marriage it is.”

This time he did laugh, although it came out bitter and harsh. “You think we can find someone willing to marry him? Don’t be ridiculous,” he paused for a moment, in which Minerva’s glare persuaded him into using less harsh language than he had planned to. “Filch is not a handsome man, he knows no magic, and he has no life outside of mopping Hogwarts’ corridors,” he said, content with how politely he had formulated that. “Tell me one single person who would, even from a purely strategical view, be interested in him?”

“You.”

Severus opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it again. The process repeated itself about twice more, in which his indignance grew exponentially. “Me?” he finally uttered. “Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I’m not,” she said calmly, although she very much looked like a woman who had won her battle. As though he had already married Filch. She smiled. _Wicked woman_ , Severus thought. He looked down at his empty teacup to escape her daunting glee. The tealeaves were not unlike they had been that morning.

 _The bells_. He traced the rim of the cup with his thumb, scowling once more. _Marriage_.

:: :: ::

Severus remembered when, many years ago, he had been given the honour to deliver the marriage proposal between Lucius and Narcissa. He had never envied them, although he had been secretly pleased with his position in their whole spiel.

And now Minerva was his messenger. Merlin bless the tradition, because Severus would never have gotten the proposal over his lips. He was pacing restlessly through Minerva’s Office. He was going to marry. Or at least, that was the plan. He did not imagine it to succeed. And then maybe he did imagine it. He didn’t know which one was worse. Marriage was something that happened to others, not him. It was something he could observe from the side-lines, not experience.

Far too soon, Minerva returned, bustling into her office with far too much energy. He needed not ask her for the details, so he did not. He was still waiting for Umbridge to kick open the door and put a halt to the whole ordeal. Whether he was dreading or anticipating it was hard to tell.

“We ought to get going, Severus,” she said, dragging him out of her office with her. “We have a marriage to arrange before noon.”

“Quiet,” he hissed, although there was no one around to hear them. Minerva gave him a look. “I thought this was supposed to be a clandestine matter until it was over with?”

That was the only part he was comfortable with. The secrecy. The less people knew, the better. All they needed to do was get the ceremony up and done with, seal the magic, and that would be that. Umbridge’s plans would be thwarted and they could all move on.

“Besides, I’m not supposed to be part of arranging the whole thing,” he added, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest.

There was very little he knew about marriages, but that the two central pieces of the whole ordeal were least involved in the decision-making and preparations, was common knowledge. Pureblood marriages were as arranged and old-fashioned as they could be. Then again, maybe there were other kinds of marriages in the Wizarding World. He wouldn’t know, and he certainly wasn’t about to ask.

Minerva shushed him and guided him into her private quarters. They were tall rooms with tall windows, the colours were warm and the large fire even more so. It went without saying that he felt very much out of place.

“Did you ever attend a wedding?”

“Yes,” he huffed. “I was the Malfoy’s messenger.”

His memories of their marriage were not as clear as they should have been, although he wasn’t about to tell Minerva that. There was the acid-like aftertaste of golden liquor – as expensive as it was foul. Not that he hadn’t tasted it, oh, he’d drowned himself in it, just because he could. The ceremony itself was dull and boring, overshadowed by the buzz of alcohol and the overwhelming sense of intrusion. He’d noticed, belatedly, that he’d been the only Half-Blood around, and as soon as the realisation had made its way through his hazed brain, he’d been paranoid with it. All night, he had been waiting for someone to point their finger at him and call him out. A filthy Half-Blood in their middle. Whilst the newly wed were having their first dance – high on love and alcohol and a more illicit substance that Severus had slipped them, on their request – he had been busy with gratuitously inebriating himself. The feverishness and vertigo were a pleasant distraction from the shame and hunger that consumed him in the presence of wizards and witches too wealthy to look him directly in the eye. The last clear memory of the besotted night he had was one in which he was halfway between drunk and hungover. He was sweating excessively, with his back pressed to the storeroom door, keeping guard as he’d been asked to by a very tipsy, very horny Narcissa. He might’ve passed out, had he not been listening a little too intently to the groom and bride, fucking each other with ardent desperation right behind his back.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” Severus echoed disinterestedly, and remembered waking up in his own vomit, unable to feel his legs, with tears streaming down his face at every source of light. A hangover so vivid it cured him from alcoholism.

“Don’t make such a face, Severus.” She tutted. “Come on now, there is work to do.”

:: :: ::

Both men had been provided with robes and a ring. A clean, well-lit room with a hearth had been prepared for the occasion. All The necessary sigils had been drawn, and the incantation was prepared. Severus wished he could be irked when he saw that Filius, Pomona, Hagrid, and Poppy were there for the ceremony, but all he felt was an urge to throw up.

By eleven, Severus married a man he barely knew. All he would remember of it was the clamminess of his hands when Filch put on his ring, the scrape of the other man’s stubble when they kissed, and the overwhelming sense of nausea when the hot magic burning through him, sealing the bond.

And so it happened, that the first marriage in Hogwarts took place during Umbridge’s reign.


	3. Chapter 3

He was nervous, to say in the least. He’d never experienced more than a disappointing snog behind the Greenhouse, and now he was married. Moreover, now he was expected to consummate the marriage.

Minerva and the others would take care of the rest. Informing Umbridge, and such. She had reassured Severus that the whole ordeal would be kept quiet. He did not need everyone to know this. It would be troublesome to explain to some of his less open-minded friends. Those were things he said to himself, things he felt he ought to think about, but they fluttered through his mind without any weight. He had hoped the sickness would abide after the ceremony had been done with, but it refused to.

And then suddenly, he was alone with Filch, whom he had not dared to look at since the vows had been sealed. Finally, they were in his private quarters, safely within the dungeons. It was the only consolation he had.

He slowly closed the door behind them. The silence of the room rang in his ears. He tried to inhale deeply, feeling as though he had not breathed all day, but it made his stomach lurch. What better way was there to start out a marriage than throwing up? At least he reached the toilet in time. Two hands held back his hair as his empty stomach unloaded whatever little it had. Strings of slime dangled from his mouth, and he breathed shakily, unsure of whether more would come. A cool, damp cloth was used to wipe his mouth clean with, and then he was pushed back carefully, so that he was sitting. The cloth was washed and wrung out, and then pressed against his forehead. A glass of water was handed to him, which he drank greedily.

He was left alone in the bathroom then. He could hear footsteps, walking about in the other rooms. Tea being made, by the sounds of it. He braced his arms over his stomach and inhaled deeply, or tried to, at least. Any time, Umbridge could come storming in, declaring their marriage invalid. Only she couldn’t, because his wards wouldn’t let her in, would they? But she could invalidate it through the law, probably.

With a sigh, he shook the thoughts off, and stood up. His own black, beady eyes looked back at him from the mirror. He had never ever dared to think about marrying, and look at him now, marrying in his thirties, like some normal person. Only he did not marry a woman, and he would not have children, and he would not pass down his name. Not that he had desired any of those, but he had never considered them possible in the first place, and suddenly he questioned whether it had really been that impossible. But he was married now, so it mattered little. He was married, he repeated to the sickly man in the mirror. Married. To a man. To a Squib. He rubbed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but it made him nauseous to even try.

When he finally crept out of the bathroom, a cup of steaming tea and toast were waiting for him on the table. _As if that will make anything better_ , he thought bitterly, and sat down more briskly than necessary. Filch was keeping himself busy in the kitchen. He sipped his tea, and glanced at his hand. At his ring. He hadn’t even properly looked at it up until then. It was golden, with no stones or decorations. A plain wedding band. Both of their names were engraved on it. And the date of today. His birthday.

The magic imbued in the ring was still glowing, pulsing through his hand and seeping into the rest of his body. Now that he wasn’t nose-deep in a toilet, he could feel it more clearly. It was a heat, travelling through his veins, giving him an odd, warm feeling.

As he sipped his tea, the heat began travelling lower. It reached his abdomen, which was fine, until it sunk even deeper. He remembered once more that they still had to consummate their marriage. Today. Before midnight. Knowing that did not help with lessening the heat in his loins. He wondered, with many mixed feelings, whether Filch was feeling it too.

The question was answered almost immediately, when Filch entered the sitting room with a cup of tea and toast for himself. He wore trousers, which didn’t hide much. Severus nearly chocked on his tea.

Filch sat down across from him, leaving an appropriate distance between them. Severus stole a glance. He’d looked at him often, so he knew the Filch was a plain man, and even that was almost a euphemism. The magical ring had not made him any more appealing than he used to be. There were still bags under his eyes, and his jaw was still square, and his stubble still greying. His frown was as engraved in his face as Severus’.

Then Filch suddenly looked up, his light grey eyes meeting Severus, and Severus looked down, studying his toast. His face was hot and his pants were becoming uncomfortable. Blasted marital magic.

He straightened himself. Everything they were doing was a purely strategical move. There was nothing about this farce of a marriage that had to be taken half as serious as he was taking it.

However, rather than saying anything, he abruptly stood up, and took his empty teacup to the kitchen. He was uncomfortably aware of his own half-hard cock, even if he knew it wasn’t visible through his layered robes. Instead of doing anything remotely useful, he began cleaning up. Not that there was much to clean in the kitchen, considering that the House Elves did most of the cooking, but he found a something to occupy himself with either way.

His mouth was very dry. He felt light-headed. The heaviness on his chest still hadn’t lessened. It did not matter that the ceremony was done with, and that no one was watching him. He could not breathe freely. A small part of him feared that maybe that was part of the magic. This trapped, tight feeling. This heat ringing underneath his skin.

When Severus finally mustered up the strength to walk back into his own sitting room, he found Filch in his armchair. He was sitting comfortably, with a book in his hands. It was a strange sight to behold. Severus wondered whether he had expected him to be illiterate. A man who worked with his hands so much he forgot he had a brain to use as well.

There was, at the very least, a faint flush about Filch’s cheeks, but it was nowhere near the redness that crept down Severus’ neck whenever his thoughts lost track.

Filch raised his head, and their eyes locked. There was a predator-like intensity in his light eyes. The sensation burned in Severus’ abdomen. Filch looked him up and down, his knuckles white with how tightly he was gripping the book. There was a hunger so plain on his face that Severus wondered if he’d give in then and there. If he’d drop the book and grab Severus and- he shivered.

Severus turned his head away, and swallowed hard. He stared at the clock, unable to decipher the time as he felt Filch’s gaze travel over him again. There was the sound of a book being closed and softly put aside, of weight lifting off an old couch, and the creak of someone standing on the old, wooden floor. Severus listened closely, not daring to turn his head away from the clock.

There was no more looking away when a hand cupped his chin, and turned his face. A warm breath ghosted over his lips, followed by a kiss, which was surprisingly gentle. He’d never thought about how the stubble would feel against his chin, or the calloused fingers sliding down his cheek and neck.

Kissing was easier than he’d expected. He’d feared that his lack of experience would make him clumsy, or awkward. Their teeth clicked, and their lips wouldn’t follow each other’s movement seamlessly, but he realised that that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It was a lot nicer than he’d expected, too. He liked it, although he’d never admit it. He liked how the kissing grew harder, more urgent. How the tongue in his mouth felt funny at first, and then exciting. Filch’s teeth caught his bottom lip, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.

When they drew back, Severus let out a shaky breath. He couldn’t tell when he had put his arms around Filch, his nails digging in the latter’s back, but evidently, he had done so.

“Bedroom?”

It took a moment for him to figure out what Filch meant. As to not appear as though he had become speechless (he wouldn’t bestow that kind of flattery on anyone), he said, “Yes,” in a voice much breathier than he had expected.

His bed creaked underneath their weight. When Severus realised that, pinned underneath Filch, he was not the one in control, it was already too late. The heat of another body pressed against him was too good to push away. Neither could he refuse Filch’s hands, not when he felt their coarseness underneath his robes, running almost delicately over his belly and chest. Certainly not when his thumb brushed over Severus’ nipple. He gasped softly, and felt gooseflesh spreading over his skin.

“Like that, do we?” Filch breathed hotly into the crook of his neck.

Severus would have protested, but the thumb returned, circling his nipple and then pinching it gently. Severus bit his lip hard, refusing to make another sound.

Something pressed against his thigh, and he needed a few moments to realise what it was. His own arousal was familiar to him, even if it had never been quite this strong, but another man’s arousal was entirely different. He shifted his leg testily, brushing up against Filch’s erection. The breathy grunt it elicited sent a shiver down Severus’ spine. He did it again, rubbing his leg carefully against the erection. It was surprisingly erotic, to hear Filch catch his breath, and then groan deeply. He wondered whether Filch thought the same about his gasps and muffled moans.

Filch drew back. Severus was about to protest, but the hand that had been on his chest moved lower, down his belly, and he thought it wiser not to interrupt. He was touched just above the base of his cock, and couldn’t help it when his hips jerked up.

He had secretly believed that handjobs were overrated. Someone else couldn’t know where you liked to be touched best. He had never thought that it was exactly the foreignness of the touch that would make it so good. Filch’s pace was much slower than Severus would have done it, almost painfully so. His grip was firm, however, and his thumb ran over the head of his cock with each stroke.

Admittedly, Severus had never touched himself with much dedication. It had always been a quick affair, even when he all the time in the world. He’d never cupped his balls like Filch did, never ran circles over them, almost as though he were massaging them. And he certainly never thought it would make him feel so tight and hot. There was an odd sensation, just below his balls, and he realised Filch’s finger was trailed down lower still. The finger was wet and slick, although Severus had missed out on how that had happened. And then the finger pressed against his-

“Oh!”

He threw his head back and clawed at the sheets, sucking in a breath through his teeth. All he could do was spread his legs, like some cheap whore, and shudder when he felt something easing into him. His hips bucked, and he could faintly hear Filch shushing him. All he could feel was that finger, slowly sinking deeper into him. His erection was poking into his own belly, so hard he was sure a single, hard stroke could push him over the edge. Filch’s finger was moving carefully, stroking him on the inside.

“Oh, fuck!”

His hips jerked up again. His abdomen tightened, and he dug his heels into the mattress. Filch’s lips brushed over his nipple, and then teeth scraped over it softly. That was all Severus needed, and he let out a long, hoarse moan as he shuddered through his climax.

It was different, with someone else. That was the first thought he could muster up, after the initial pleasant blankness. Filch was kissing his neck, the stubble and heat of his mouth sending a shiver down Severus’ spine.

He propped himself up on his elbows, wondering how he was expected to reciprocate. He stared dazedly ahead of him for a moment, and saw that he was still half-hard. He’d never dreamt of still being hard after an orgasm. Perhaps it was the marital magic.

He had never found his own body a source of excitement, in any way. Now, however, there was another man, another _naked_ man, next to him. There was a heavy, hairy leg between his own, and a big, weeping erection pressed against his hip. Filch’s hand was still moving leisurely, below his balls. It was out of sight, but he could feel the stretch of a second finger, and let out a shaky sigh. Filch’s belly rested against his side, and he felt every breath of him as much as he heard them.

He noticed, suddenly, that there was no come. Filch couldn’t have vanished it, neither had he cleaned it up. The confusion gave way for a little bit of panic. Was this also part of the magic? Was he infertile? Was he supposed to be the woman, and not eject any more sperm, for some reason?

“What’s wrong?” Filch’s hoarse voice came from below his ear, lips brushing against Severus’ neck as he spoke.

“I didn’t,” Severus glanced away, leaving the sentence unfinished. He hoped that Filch would know what he meant, but the pause lasted. “I didn’t come.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, I mean, yes, I did, but not, you know.”

“You came dry,” Filch muttered warmly against his neck. “’s normal.”

“Oh.”

To him, there was nothing normal about it, and it left most of his questions unanswered, but he supposed it had to do. Clearly, Filch knew a thing or two about the matter. Luckily, Severus was distracted from his thoughts by the burning sensation down there. He wondered, not without blushing, whether Filch had put a third finger in there. At least Filch couldn’t see how red his face must be.

Filch shifted, and after a bit of fumbling, he was nestled between Severus’ legs. Once again, Severus felt like a whore, with his legs spread wide, with Filch’s hungry eyes all over him, and with at least three fingers up his ass.

Then the fingers were gone. The emptiness felt wrong and incredibly unpleasant, but it only lasted very briefly. Something else, warm and blunt and most definitely big, pressed against him. For a moment, he was certain that it would not fit. Filch’s cock could not possible go in there. But then it did, or at least the head of his cock did, as it slowly slid inside of him. He closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh, fingers curled tightly around the sheets to brace himself.

Filch was muttering something under his breath, but Severus couldn’t make anything of it. He only felt the pulsing heat in his abdomen, and the cock that buried itself deeper and deeper inside of him. Then Filch stopped, and groaned softly. While he began moving his hips slowly and steadily, his hand found Severus’ cock again. It took only a few good tugs to get him hard again, and Severus gave in to a deep moan as he relaxed. Filch picked up the pace little by little. The sound of skin slapping against skin was unexpectedly dirty, but more so was hearing Filch’s ragged breath, and his muffled grunts. He marvelled at the feeling of the cock sliding in and out of him, although it was not as good as the fingers, it was decidedly overwhelming. Meanwhile, the hand on his dick kept up with the pace, and Severus felt the curling heat returning sharply to his abdomen. He couldn’t stop all sorts of small _oh_ ’s and _ah_ ’s, biting his lip to stifle the low moans.

Filch was thrusting into him fast now, and the bed creaked rhythmically underneath them. One of his hands rested on Severus’ hips, its grip so tight it would certainly leave bruises. His other hand was stroking Severus off, quickly and clumsily, but Severus could not have done it better himself. He shuddered, and gasped, and was just on the edge of coming when the hand around his cock stopped. Filch thrusted deeply into him, stayed there, and let out a deep, low grunt. A few more thrusts followed, twitchy and wet, and then he slowly pulled out.

 _And me?_ Severus thought. As though he’d heard him, Filch got a hold of his erection again, and gave it a good squeeze, stroking it far too slowly for how close Severus was. He was just about to say something, maybe _fuck_ or _faster_ or _please_ , when Filch bent down. The warm, wet heat of his mouth was wrapped tightly around the head of Severus’ cock, and all Severus’ thoughts were gone.

He moaned, or maybe he screamed. He shuddered violently, and came so hard he saw stars. Filch sucked him through his orgasm, swallowing tightly around the throbbing head of his cock. Severus trembled and twitched until the very last drop had been sucked from him. His body, tight and taut as it could be, slowly relaxed. It felt as though it liquified, and melted onto the mattress.

A warm body nestled itself next to him, and an arm embraced him, pulling him closer. He realised, absent-mindedly, that he could finally breathe again, as deeply and slowly as he wanted to. He nuzzled his face into Filch’s neck, and inhaled his earthy, musky scent. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed reading!  
> Leaving a review is the easiest way to make someone's day!


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